


Losing Control

by Dombell



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, angst guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-01-20 03:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dombell/pseuds/Dombell
Summary: Based off of MKUltra.That's all. Click for more :P





	1. Losing Control - Prologue

This eclectic bundle of information is interesting on its own, (as I’ve boiled it down and made it easy to understand) but the point of this is to help make my fic make a liiiiiittle more sense.

Everything in bold either  
1\. Was directly mentioned or used in the fic, or  
2\. Gave me vague concepts and ideas which I kind of brushed over  
So pay special attention to those parts.

~~~

• MKUltra (‘53-‘73) was a CIA-run mind control program that **conducted experiments on human subjects (ILLEGALLY)**.  
The experiments were **intended to identify and develop drugs and procedures to be used in interrogations and torture**.

• The program included the use of **unwitting U.S. and Canadian citizens as its test subjects**.

• MKUltra used many ways to manipulate people's mental states and alter brain functions, including:  
\- **The surreptitious administration of drugs (especially LSD) and other chemicals**  
\- Hypnosis  
\- Sensory deprivation  
\- **Isolation**  
\- Verbal abuse  
\- **Temporary/permanent brain damage and loss of memory.**  
\- **Other forms of psychological torture**.

• The scope of this project was HUGE!  
Research was undertaken at 80 institutions, including:  
-44 colleges and universities  
-15 research foundations or chemical or pharmaceutical companies  
- **12 hospitals or clinics**  
-and three prisons!

• People who were chosen:  
\- Mental patients  
\- Prisoners  
\- Drug addicts  
\- Prostitutes  
\- **Even patients who had entered an institute for minor problems such as anxiety disorders, postpartum depression, etc. (!!!)  
"People who could not fight back," as one agency officer put**

Another MKUltra effort, Subproject 54, was the Navy's top secret **"Perfect Concussion" program, which was supposed to use sub-aural frequency blasts to erase memory.**

• Unfortunately, CIA Director Richard Helms ordered all MKUltra files destroyed in 1973, and information only started being disclosed to civilians starting in '75. Sooo yeah we don't have ALL the info. A lot was lost in a man-made fire in an attempt to hide what had been done... but all this is what we DO know.

~-~-~-~

So basically this is an AU fic where Matt and Dom are an established relationship, and some CIA program LIKE MKUltra is happening in the 21st Century.

(Keep in mind that effects of MKUltra in the real world COULD possibly still be going on today. Not 30 years ago, something happened that proves just how far the government will stray from basic morals as long as it benefits them) It happened 10 years after MKUltra was shut down, but it happened as a direct result OF MKUltra.  
This story isn't NEEDED, but good to read:

(Copied and pasted from official documents then slightly edited to compress information)...  
A 12 year old boy named Johnny was kidnapped while he began his morning paper route for the Des Moines Register in West Des Moines, Iowa on September 5, 1982.

Witnesses to the kidnapping state that a man stopped and asked Johnny for directions. Johnny told another paper boy that the man frightened him. He was followed until he was out of sight of the others, then snatched by 2 men who held him down in the back seat of an old Fairmont. Witnesses saw the car screeching tires as it made a hasty getaway.

As the days and weeks went by, Noreen (Johnny’s mother) realized she wasn't going to get the help she needed from the local authorities or the FBI.

Johnny was kidnapped for the sole purpose of use in a global pedophile and pornography ring. He was not killed. He was being kept alive and subjected to trauma and torture of a satanic/sexual nature to beat down his self-consciousness to make him vulnerable to brainwashing.

Noreen learned that the child sex trafficking organization that took Johnny had direct connections to extreme "higher ups", including the CIA, the military, and politicians in Washington DC. This information was later confirmed by other victims of the same ring.

This occult's mission is to use MK Ultra programming.

(This Info was found through link titled “Johnny Gosch – Kidnapped MKUltra Sex Slave”)


	2. Losing Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty.
> 
> So, I started writing this fic MONTHS ago, and added little bits here and there up until a week ago when I finally decided to work hard and actually finish it off.
> 
> It started as a vent fic because I was Very Very Sad™, but due to the long time it took to write, it’s got a little bit of everything.
> 
> This includes angst, smut*, conspiracy theories, and angst (x2). Yeah this fic is a mess. Which is quite a feat as it is barely even 3K words…
> 
> I wasn’t gonna post it, being a vent fic at heart, but Ray (@dronesforhands http://dronesforhands.tumblr.com/ ) is a great person and I love him so this is for you, Ray.
> 
> Content warnings include: I am a horrible person who finds very bad things arousing yes okay.
> 
> For serious though, if violence is a no-go for you, don’t read this. It’s like fucked up BDSM.
> 
> *It’s only smut if you’re into “fucked up BDSM”
> 
> You’ve been warned.

**Matthew never cried.**

Even as the slow weeks passed one agonizing hour after another, he held his resolve, focusing not on the present but on own thoughts.

He wouldn't let himself forget-  _couldn't_ let himself forget the feeling he’d get every time Dom smiled. He grappled to every detail, _his perfect teeth, his crooked jaw_ , and daydreamed of the days prior to their abduction.  
They could take away his freedom and dignity, but they couldn’t take his memories.

_Matthew blinks slowly at the wall opposite him. He wears the standard issue plain white cotton shirt and sweats- folds hanging pitifully off his shoulders and hips- and sits in his compact white cot, slumped absently against the wall._

His room smelt of wet concrete and sterilized equipment, holding the very bare necessities.

A metal door with a sliding food slot in place of a handle.  
A surveillance camera.  
A small metal desk.  
A small metal chair.  
A single light bulb hanging above said table.  
Some winding pipes along the back wall.  
An analog clock firmly installed- too high to reach unassisted.

If Matthew attempted speach he'd be beaten- the consequences increasing in severity with each consecutive utterance.

Despite this,  
**Matthew never cried.**

The first week was retaliation.  
He kicked and screamed and stood back up when knocked down, cursing all the way.

The second week was pleading.  
Every day, once at 9:30AM and again at 3:00PM he found, masked men entered the room to inject him with.. something… which would give him psychotic trips which lasted uncomfortably long. He searched in silence for any hints of sympathy from them. Begging for mercy with his eyes.

The third week was quiet, deadly rage.  
He'd glare daggers at any being who set foot into his room. _His_ room.  
Once, he tried covering the unmoving yet intrusive camera with his blanket. Another time, he tried breaking the light bulb with his chair. Both actions were met with an electric shock issued through a seemingly invisible source, each time rendering him motionless on the floor before a pained screech of frustration could be heard through the monitors.

After almost a month, he'd finally given in.  
He'd obey without question and allow the men to conduct their tests. It was physically painless as long as he didn't resist. The isolation was getting to him and he was desperate to let them have their way in hopes of freedom being gifted in return.  
Not a day passed in which he didn’t think of Dom.

Matt was fed daily, but only weighed in at about 115 lbs after the 21st day.  
He excercised in the morning to keep his body from completely deteriorating, but appeared frail nonetheless.

_Matt folds his legs to his chest and scratches a tally into a hidden area of his wooden bed frame with his thumb. It's been 28 days now._

This was all his fault.

He’d pushed to go on that walk and to explore the alleys near that scary abandoned building that night. It was his fault that they crossed paths with that “homeless” man crouched under a blanket.

All he remembered was offering the man a few spare quid and then being attacked. His arm was grabbed and a sweet-smelling rag was pressed against his face. Seeing as the next thing he knew was waking up here it was safe to say the scent was that of chloroform and that that van with the blackened windows in his peripherals probably didn’t look sinister due to an overactive imagination.

They should've just stayed home and watched a movie...  
  
_ding_

Matt's head shoots up, eyes wide. The door’s unlocked.

At 12:00PM or 5:30PM on the dot, that would mean food and toiletries, and at exactly 9:30AM or 3:00PM that would mean some strange chemical-based test of sorts.  
As the door slides open, he looks to the clock. It's 10:03PM.  
  
Matt rises from the cot in defensively.  
The people who usually enter the room are hidden behind white cloaks and medical masks. This time, a tall woman in an officer’s suit marches in, followed by two men.  
  
Matthew frowns at the woman as she moves to the center of the room and faces him. Her eyes pierce into his dark corner.  
  
“Subject E17.”  
  
That’s what he is to them? He'd never been directly addressed until this moment.  
She's holding a clipboard.  
  
“I am here t-”  
  
“Where is he? Where is Dom?”  
  
She pauses and the men behind her, body guards it seems, step forward.  
Matt flinches, but they stop at a wave of her hand.  
  
“Subject E18 is fine. In fact, he may be freed if you stay silent and listen. Would you like that?”  
  
Matt freezes.  
  
How could they ask him that?  
The hope alone that Dom might leave this place unharmed as kept Matt from completely losing his mind by this point. Every night he dreamt of escape and every morning he fought the urge to weep.  
How could they ask him that?

He tries to maintain his unfazed composure.

“Yes.”  
  
It's all he can muster without screaming.  
  
“Subject E18 will be freed, under one condition.”  
  
Matt twitches at the dehumanizing title, but hope grows in his chest all the same.  
  
”We ask that you give consent to a test- we need consent for accurate results. If you decline, things will continue as before.”

“What test?”  
  
“Unfortunately, that is classified for the time being, but I am obligated to inform you that you will likely experience measures of severe discomfort.”

His stomachs drops at the implication.

“You mean… it’s definitely gonna hurt a lot, then.”

The silence is answer enough.  
  
“W-will I see him again? If I say yes?”  
  
“You will.”  
  
He’s quiet for a moment, on one hand angry at the situation, and on the other hand willing to do anything to fix what he caused. The choice was obvious.  
  
“Okay,” Matt whispers. “Yes.”  
  
"Excellent.”  
She jots something down.  
“We begin at 7PM.”  
  
…  
  
Matt sits up and rubs his face with an open palm as the previous night’s events replay in his mind.  
Staring groggily through the clock, he notes that he’d overslept to noon due to a restless night of tossing and turning.  
  
Matt goes about his morning routine, realizing with a start that the usual 9:30 appointment never came to pass, mentally concluding that this is likely due to the test he’d agreed to.

He ignores the lunch tray waiting at the slot in his door.  
  
…  
  
Lost to anxiety, Matt paces around his room. The clock burns the numbers 6:59 into his retinas.  
He shivers and rubs his sweating palms together to calm his nerves.

Finally, the dreaded sound of the door unlocking prompts one last frantic glance to the clock- 7:00.

Followed by her two bodyguards, the woman from yesterday enters the room, but there’s another man. He looks like an army officer, but his face is hidden behind a thin scarf.  
He’s holding a coiled whip.  
  
Matt makes the connection and begins to sweat, a meek “oh” falling unheard from his lips.  
  
He can’t tear his eyes away from the thing. It’s long. Leather.  
Matt begins to sway uneasily- it’s a bullwhip.  
  
It all feels so surreal to him suddenly, thick and warm like a dream, but the woman sits down in his chair with her clipboard and he’s pulled back into the present.  
  
“Y- you’re… going to _whip_ me?”  
  
“That is correct. You may back out at any time,” she states. “Your full consent is imparative to our research.”  
  
Matt coughs.  
“Why?”  
  
The woman looks stiffly down at her notes.  
“Unfortunately, that information is classified.”  
  
_Oh, give me a break,_  he thinks.  _Acting all sophisticated like they’re trying to find the fucking cure for cancer._

“Otherwise, strip from the waist up.”

She flips a page and clicks her pen on the desk.

“Thirty lashes will be distributed, then your friend will be released tomorrow morning.”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“E17, we’re waiting on your decision.”  
  
Slowly, Matt moves to grip the hem of the shirt. His motions are zombie-like.  
The coarse fabric is lifted up, exposing his pale torso, and he throws the garment to the cot. Trudging to the center of the room, he stands in front of the woman at the desk and holds his hands out by his sides in surrender. The single light above casts dark shadows in his eye sockets and in the hollows of his cheeks. Shallow pools of darkness form in the gaps between his ribs.  
  
Matt feels the cold air of the room on his shoulders and shivers.  
  
One of the body guards attaches two pairs of cuffs to the plumbing pipes on the wall behind him. The other comes up behind Matt and spins him around, leading him to said wall with a shove.  
Matt stumbles at the force, but wills himself to walk forward.  
  
With a face of complete abandon, Matt allows his wrists to be enclosed in the harsh metal cuffs, arms stretched wide above his head.  
He can hardly bend his knees before he’s hanging painfully in the restraints.  
  
The body guards stand on either side, facing into the room, and he feels something cold wiping him down, making his shoulder blades quiver. The smell of rubbing alcohol fills the air.

The woman has a front row seat.

The man to his left shouts, ”One!”  
  
With a tiny gasp, Matthew feels a thin streak of fire light up across his shoulders, his muscles involuntarily contracting. He sighs and awaits the next strike.  
  
“Two!”  
  
Another line of burning flesh, this one met with a quiet grunt.  
It’s worse than he could ever imagine it to be, as though the very cells he was made up of were splitting in two.  
_28 more_.  
  
_Swish- CRACK_  
This one’s lower.  
  
He tries to stay silent and keep some sort of dignity. Who knows how long that will last.

The fourth lash overlaps the first two and Matt lets out a pained yelp.  
The screaming pain in his back starts to spread.  
  
Five. He can’t feel the individual strokes anymore. Just a mass of undulating heat and biting pain.  
  
The time between each lash- about 15 seconds each- goes by at a snail’s pace.  
  
Six. Matt convulses violently and releases a breathy whimper. Grimacing, he prays the four people watching him won’t notice the unexpected reaction to the beating. He wants to disappear.  
  
Seven. He holds in what could’ve been a very telling moan, subconsciously pulling at his restraints in an attempt to cave in on himself. Why is he excited? He shouldn’t be excited.  
  
Eight. A note of broken baritone escapes his lips through ground teeth.  
He rises to his toes and drops down again with his eyes shut tight and fists clenched.  
  
How will he survive the remaining 22?  
  
…  
  
“Twenty-seven!”  
  
Matt shrieks in agony. His throat is raw and each breath is a sob, but he still wants more. Each lash is just as vicious as the first.  
His hips buck ever so slightly.  
  
“Twenty-eight!”  
  
Matt’s breath is labored and he slumps against the bonds, unable to further support his own weight.  
The pause is longer this time. They’re making sure he stays conscious for each stroke.  
  
Finally, Matt breathes steadily- once, twice, three times- and he rises, shaking, to take the final two blows properly.  
  
“Twenty-nine!”  
  
A warbled grunt, shaking limbs and straining tendons.  
  
“Thirty!”  
  
The last strike makes contact with his body and he groans, allowing his body to fall again, completely and totally spent.  
  
Much to his own amazement, he hadn’t shed a single tear.  
  
**Matthew never cried.**  
  
His back is littered with dark purple bruises and bright red patches of bleeding skin, but there are no lacerations too deep to heal.  
The abused flesh contrasts his pale and unblemished lower back and arms beautifully.  
  
The lady stands up from the desk.  
“Thank you, E17. Your friend will be free by tomorrow.”  
  
The body guards begin undoing the cuffs as she walks briskly out of the room, followed by the officer.  
  
The moment his hands are free, Matt falls to his knees with a thud, whining weakly.  
  
They leave him on the floor, broken and alone.  
  
…  
  
Matt didn’t remember waking up on the floor. He didn’t even remember crawling to bed in the middle of the night and blacking out, half naked and face down.  
  
Two masked men rush into the room and grab him by the shoulders. They jerk him awake, tearing a cry of surprise and pain from him as he’s lifted from the cot and cuffed behind his back.  
  
They drag him violently out of his room, not allowing him time to get dressed.  
  
“H- _HEY_. What- Where are you taking me?”  
  
He’s finally leaving his room, but not exactly the way he had imagined.  
Numbered doors fly past as he’s escorted through a labrynth of dim, narrow hallways.  
  
Finally, they arrive at their destination and toss Matt to his knees into a room not unlike his own.  
  
And that’s when he sees him.  
  
A thousand words and feelings barrel through his mind- too quickly to articulate anything but a name.  
  
“DOM!”  
  
The men grab mercilessly at Matt’s bare and battered shoulders again to hold him still, but this time he doesn’t mind the pain.  
Dom really is ok, and he’s HERE.  
  
“ _Matt_?” Dom can’t surpress the ghost of a smile on his lips, even as he’s cuffed and forced to his knees as well.  
  
Dom had been issued the same clothing Matt had, and his soft blonde hair had grown an inch or so since they were together last.  
  
Dom’s face morphs into an appalled look when his eyes drift to the marks the whip left when it wrapped around to the front of Matt’s torso.

”Matt... you- your back. What did they do to you?”  
He looks to the people behind Matt, almost whispering with hurt.  
“What did you **_do?_** ”  
  
Matt could care less.

“D- Dom. Dom, I’m so sorry. I’m so- so sorry.”  
Matt wrestles to get closer.  
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you? It’s ok, you’re gonna be okay. They’re letting you go! I-“  
  
He didn’t even see what was happening.  
  
It wasn’t until Matt had seen the absolute terror in his eyes that he noticed the gun being pressed against Dom’s head.  
  
Matt’s blood goes cold and his mouth hangs open, heart pounding out if his chest.  
Then Dom speaks.  
  
“It's okay,” He’s smiling. “Everything’s going to be okay.”  
  
A tear falls from his face.  
  
“No-“  
  
The drop hits the floor with a gunshot, and Matt sees no more.  
  
His world shatters into a million pieces at the sound of Dom’s limp body hitting the floor, barely audible over the ringing in his ears.  
  
Matt is quickly lifted by his arms and legs, but the men are met with no resistance.  
He feels nothing.

He wonders if he’s dead.  
  
And then he’s back in his room, in his hell, with the sack that had been put over his head removed, and he knows now that it isn’t so.  
  
**Matthew cried.**


	3. Losing Control - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not over

Matt wakes up safely tucked into a hospital bed. He has no memory of the several weeks he spent in captivity.

Neither does Dom.

 

Matt is told his foot surgery went well, and that he’d be walking within a few weeks.

Dom is a few rooms down. He’s told that he hit his head and needed to be rushed to the emergency room and that he’s clear to leave whenever.

The two are surprised to meet eachother in the lobby, Matt in crutches, and they joke about how they both somehow ended up at the hospital at exactly the same time.

They head Dom’s place for the night.  
For some inexplicable reason, they both feel as though they hadn’t seen each other in a while and have a strange need to be close at all times.

When they get home, Matt takes a long time in the bathroom before calling out for his friend.  
He’s found inspecting faded marks on his back, and Dom joins him in conscern.

Dom mentions that he has a mostly-healed gash on his head from his _supposed_ head injury and that he can’t remember how he got it.

The couple talk for hours in bed about how they both cannot _for the life of them_ remember the past month and a half.

And then eventually, after much conversation on the subject, they move on, as people do.

Like nothing ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> Heeeeyy so yeah Matt never actually SAW Dom being shot so lol.
> 
> They put the sack over Matt’s head, fired a blank, and bashed Dom in the head- all at the same time.
> 
> I know this is weird and confusing, so here’s some answers to any questions you might have:
> 
> As I’ve said before, it’s based off of MKUltra.
> 
> They were chosen for this specific experiment because they were both considered strong enough, as men, and had a bond that was closer than many other men. They used that to fuck with them. Messed up stuff, but it's all based off stuff I've read.
> 
> The reason for the really fucked up (pre-epilogue) ending is because this specific experiment had multiple parts.
> 
> The first was to see how desperately they could get Matt to pine for Dom (with isolation and mild insanity by the constant LSD trips) to see if they could use similar techniques to get Soviets to reveal secrets and do their bidding.  
> The flogging thing (though mostly self-indulgent) was their way of confirming Matt's desperateness.
> 
> The second part of the test was to simply cause great emotional distress (psychological torture!) which would make the final few experiments (not described in the fic) possible to conduct.  
> Those tests would be just other mind-control type things. No biggie.
> 
> I just didn't want to write those parts in 'cause I don't think I'd be able to accurately portray Matt's mindset at that point without crying.
> 
> Maybe the CIA in this universe found their perfect mind-control strategy/chemical through this experiment :O.  
> Maybe a few flashes of memory comes back to them every now and then, and that’s why their music is Like That. Ya never know.


	4. Fic Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I made art


End file.
